


My Babel Tongue, My Come Undone

by pinkwithoutplot



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 18:27:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8255908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pinkwithoutplot/pseuds/pinkwithoutplot
Summary: They never talk about it. Never. But tonight Sam has had enough, Dean has had a skin full and they are both running off at the mouth...





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is just filth with no redeeming qualities.

 

 

Sam’s just getting warm enough to drift off. He’s made a little cocoon of hard-won heat for himself under the thin comforter and layers of stained old blankets and his shivering has subsided. His nose and the tips of his ears are still cold, but he can live with that. His thoughts are becoming less and less coherent, becoming a dream, and his blinks get more and more protracted until his eyes are fully closed and sleep finally sucks him under.

And that’s when Dean comes back. Sam sleeps through the many fumbled attempts to get his key in the lock, but he comes to with a start when the door flies open and into the thin wall behind it with a crunch.  
“Shit!”  
Dean stumbles in, slamming the door behind him and squinting at the dented plasterboard. He snickers and Sam sits up.  
“What the fuck are you doing, Dean? Dad’s over the hall and if you wake him up he’s gonna come in here and kick your ass.”  
Sam knows Dad’s had even more to drink that Dean, but he’s a hunter first and foremost and he sleeps with one eye open, even when he’s in the midst of a bourbon fug.  
Dean puts one finger up to his smirking lips.  
“Did you make a friggin’ hole in the wall? Jesus, Dean. We’re gonna get charged for that and Dad’ll have us doing drills for weeks.”  
A low, easy laugh rumbles in Dean’s chest and he staggers over to Sam’s bed. Sam feels the busted mattress dip as Dean sinks down onto the edge of it.  
“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Sammy. It’s OK. It’s a crappy wall. I’ll say it was already like that.”  
Dean’s arm comes up and his hand cradles the back of Sam’s skull, fingers sliding into his hair. Sam can see Dean’s eyes are glassy and his cheeks rosy, even in the half light. The cold of outside is clinging to his jacket and his skin, and he smells like liquor and ozone. But as he leans forward to touch his forehead to Sam’s, Sam gets a whiff of something else – perfume, just a trace of it, on his brother’s collar.  
Sam’s neck tenses and he pulls away just a little.  
“Hey!” Dean stage-whispers. He’s really wasted. “Remember that place in Phoenix the other year? We were wrestling and you got so mad you ran full pelt at me, but I sidestepped you and you put your whole fuckin’ head through the wall?”

Yeah, Sam remembers. How could he forget? He’d been lying under Dean, panting and aching, sweaty from their exertions, and irrefutably, mortifyingly hard. Dean hadn’t got it at first. He’d taken Sam’s squirming and the little tilts of his hips as his little brother struggling to throw him off, but as the realisation that fourteen year old Sammy’s blood was up in more ways than one sunk in, Dean had sprung up like he’d been electrocuted and started stammering and pacing the room. Sam, shamed and confused and on the verge of tears, just wanted to pulverise his brother for having worked it out. For being so disarmingly beautiful and selfless and good at everything. For all the casual touches and careless winks and for all the times he’d looked at Sam like he was something infinitely precious instead of the pain in the ass burden little brothers were supposed to be. For making him feel weird and messed up and like he wanted to rub himself off against the seam of his brother’s jeans every time they sparred. So he’d tried to hurt Dean but ended up with a bump the size and shape of an egg on his forehead, wounded pride (what tiny shred of it he had left) and a month of being saddled with the worst chores Dad could come up with by way of repayment for the hefty motel bill.

That’s how this thing had started. Dean withdrew completely at first. Snatched his hand away like he’d been scalded every time he caught himself reaching out to ruffle Sam’s hair or rest a palm on the back of his sun-warmed neck as they rode together in the back seat of the Impala, winding the damp curls there around his fingers unthinkingly.

Sam was a smart cookie. He’d always been interested in psychology – figured it was just as important in their line of work as being handy with a knife or having lightning fast reflexes – and he knew that was how things had got bent out of shape. A kid like him, starved of affection and touch, his big brother the only one who gave him either on anything like a regular basis. It was kind of inevitable really, and Sam kind of hated Dad for being too single-minded to save his sons from themselves and he really kind of hated Dean for being Dean. Sam’s whole life was one sweeping vista of endless darkness and Dean was the North Star. What chance did he ever have?

Yeah, Sam was a smart cookie all right, and he knew what Dean’s behaviour meant. His big brother would never deny Sam the contact he craved, even if he suspected the kid was getting some sick sort of thrill from it. He’d have put it down to hormones and circumstance and figured if he carried on as usual, the whole thing would pass. He’d gently steer Sam towards girls he saw in the library or coming out of the school gates. He’d have left the odd skin mag discreetly placed in Sam’s rucksack or under his pillow. But the fact he’d freaked out and put distance between them for the first time in forever could mean only one thing: Dean didn’t trust himself not to reciprocate.

“Of course I remember, asshole,” Sam says quietly, twisting out of Dean’s grip and flopping back down against the pillows.  
Dean snorts. His breath smells of whiskey and beer.  
“What crawled up your ass and died?”  
Sam sighs. He knows there’s no point in even starting this conversation. Dean’s fingers are starting to knead his thigh through the padding of the bed clothes and he should just let this happen. It’s the best he can hope for, Dean drunk enough to take what they both need. It’s a once in a blue moon deal, so Sam should try to forget the smell of vanilla smeared around his brothers neck, ignore the way Dean’s fingers will probably still taste sour and musky from being inside some girl’s underwear earlier tonight and just enjoy the ride.

The first time it happened, Dad was out following a lead and they were holed up in some rented apartment just outside Baton Rouge. It was summer, and the air was thick and sweet as pea soup. It didn’t matter how many cold showers you took, as soon as you towelled off and put clothes on you were all clammy again, so Sam and Dean had taken to lazing around in their underwear, Sam reading a book and Dean watching M.A.S.H re-runs on the old portable TV with bad reception. It had been almost a year since Phoenix and Sam was hardly bothering to hide his growing hunger for his brother. He’d watch as Dean stalked around restlessly, not knowing what to do with himself in this stifling heat, eyes tracking the supple flex of his muscles as he stretched, the swell of his ass under the thin fabric of his shorts, beads of sweat making slow, slip-sliding progress from his hairline, down the side of his face. Finally, unable to take it anymore, dizzy with wanting and the rush of blood in his ears at the thought of what he was about to do, Sam lifted his hips off the couch cushion and peeled his boxers down, took his swollen cock in hand and started to jack himself off, watching Dean’s stunned face all the while. It didn’t take long. Just a dozen or so firm tugs and Sam was coming all over his own taut belly, face screwed up tight, breath punched from his lungs by how good it felt. When he finally opened his eyes, Dean was kneeling by his side, leaning in to mouth at the mess of spunk on Sam’s abs and jerking off furiously. He moaned when his tongue first slid through the mess, and he rubbed his face against Sam’s stomach, getting himself filthy with it as he blew his wad all over the skeevy beige carpet.

They never spoke about it. Ever. But it happened again. And again. Dean was always loaded. Mutual masturbation became tentative sucking off. Sucking off became Dean pushing a finger deep inside Sam and milking him dry. Dean always seemed full of remorse afterwards and the one time Sam tried to tell him he wanted it, he enjoyed – no, needed it, loved it – Dean gave him a bloody lip.

So he’d learnt to take what was given and not to question it, only tonight…tonight Sam feels brave for some reason. He’s sick of silently begging for scraps while Dean fucks his way across the country. He doesn’t want sloppy seconds this time.  
“Was she good?”  
Dean’s brow furrows.  
“What? Who?”  
“Whichever skank you picked up tonight. Was she good?”  
Dean shakes his head sadly.  
“Sammy, there was no skank. Why’re you being like this?”  
His hand comes up to cup Sam’s cheek, and Sam turns his head away.  
“Liar,” he hisses. “I can smell her all over you. It’s disgusting. Sickly and gross.”  
Dean laughs.  
“Woooooh, Francis! Having a few jealously issues, are we?”  
Sam wrestles the blankets to one side to free his arms and shoves Dean hard in the chest.  
“Fuck off, Dean. I mean it. I’m sick of this. We can’t talk about it. You only touch me when you’ve had a skin full and you’ve already fucked some bitch. Does it make you feel like a big man? Huh? Screwing some stranger in a bathroom stall? Does it take the sting out of the thought that you’re gonna come home and molest your kid brother?”  
Sam hears the slap before he feels the sting hot on his cheek, then Dean’s hands are pinning his wrists to the headboard. Dean’s nose is an inch from his own, his expression devastated.  
“You wanna wake Dad, you crazy sonofabitch?”  
Sam goes limp then and concentrates on not crying. He feels like he might hyperventilate.  
“You wanna know what happened tonight?”  
Dean’s voice is rough, but he’s not slurring anymore. His pupils look huge in the gloom. Sam holds his silence and tries to keep his breathing even.  
“Nothing. Nothing happened. I sat in a bar by myself, drinking one shot after another, looking around, watching people get drunk and have a good time. There were girls there. Some of them were attractive and looking for company, sure. One of them came over and asked me outright to go home with her. Whispered it right in my ear. She smelled good enough to eat - like a damn fudge popsicle. Would’ve been so easy. But you know what? All I could think about was you. Getting back to you, Sam. I sat there wishing I was a better man and a stronger man. Not the sort of fuck-up who wants to suck his brother’s dick. But I’m not. I’m not better. And I’m sorry. You have no fucking idea how sorry I am.”  
Dean buries his face in Sam’s shoulder, and Sam feels like the biggest asshole in the world.  
“I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry, D, I didn’t mean it.”  
He nudges Dean’s cheek with his nose, kisses the side of his face until Dean’s mouth finds his and they press their lips together, little sips which become more and more heated until their tongues meet and they kiss deep and wet. Dean lets out a shuddery groan and shrugs out of his jacket. The room is still freezing and Sam’s flesh breaks out in goose bumps as his brother’s cold hands slide under his t-shirt.  
“Off,” Dean mumbles into his open mouth. “Get it off.”  
Sam pulls the shirt over his head while Dean stands to kick off his boots. He unbuttons his jeans and shoves them down, taking his worn briefs with them. His cock is already hard, jutting out at ninety degrees from his body and lifting the hem of his long-sleeved tee obscenely. Dean lifts his shirt and pulls it off, standing naked next to Sam’s bed. His nipples are stiff in the cold air, but his teeth aren’t chattering or anything. Beer jacket, Sam thinks. Sam shirks his own underwear under the covers and shudders when Dean whips them off, leaving his bare body exposed to the chill air.  
“Want me to show you what I think about, Sammy?”  
Dean’s voice is low and dangerous. It reminds Sam of the way a dog growls just before it snaps at your hand. He nods anyway.  
Dean sits on the bed and pushes Sam’s knees up and apart. He gets his shoulders between them and slips his hands under Sam’s ass, one butt-cheek in each large palm.  
“Scoot this way a little, kiddo. Gonna make you forget all those others. They don’t mean anything, Sammy. You do. You’re everything. You know that, right?”  
Sam thinks about it. He does know that. Deep down he does. Dean could fuck a thousand people. He could even fall a little bit in love with one or two of them, but he’d break their necks in a heartbeat to save his brother. Hell, he’d probably do it if Sam asked him to.  
He nods.  
“Good boy.” Dean winks at him and Sam’s cock blurts out a few drops of slick. “Gonna eat you out now, Sammy. Think I’d ever do that with anyone else? Huh? Stick my tongue up their ass?”  
Sam feels his face and neck suffusing with warm blood. He’s not cold anymore. He shakes his head, shaking with the effort of not touching himself and coming all over Dean’s face. His brother’s breath is muggy over his inner thighs and his tight balls.  
“Damn right I wouldn’t. But I’m gonna ream you so good, Sam. Gonna take my time and get you all wet and open. Make your ass look like a little pussy? Think I can do that? Get your pink hole gaping and twitching like a cunt?”  
“Oh God!”  
Sam’s whole body seizes and he groans as he skirts the edge of coming. Dean clamps a hand over his mouth and a weak spurt of come slides down his throbbing shaft.  
“Jesus,” Dean breathes, closing his eyes. “You almost came, didn’t you? So fucking hot, Sam. But you have to be quiet. Dad’ll hear us.”  
The thought of what John would do to them if he ever found them like this is enough to douse Sam’s arousal just enough to pull him back from the brink.  
“Now hold your legs up,” Dean says. “Gonna lick you out. Don’t hold back. If you wanna come, come. Come on my tongue and I’ll eat you 'til you’re hard again.”  
Sam doesn’t think holding back is going to be an option once Dean starts tongue-fucking him, considering he nearly lost it all over himself at the mere thought. Then he feels it. The tip of Dean’s tongue against his hole and it tickles and he jumps a little, but Dean’s strong hands hold his hips down and he licks at it again, firmer this time.

Sam lets his eyes fall shut and his head rolls to one side on the pillow as he relaxes into the new and strange sensation of having his asshole licked. Dean is gentle at first, tongue wide and flat, just slicking over Sam’s opening again and again, stroking it, relaxing it. Dean’s hands roam over Sam’s belly, his thighs, slide down to cup his ass and tilt it up further so he can press his face in even closer, then move up to tug lightly at Sam’s balls.  
Sam mashes his lips together and concentrates on not making a noise. He wants to moan and thrash about, but he knows Dad is close. Dean’s using his tongue to push inside now. There are wet sucking noises coming from down there, and Sam worries even they might be loud enough to wake him. Dean hums sending vibrations through the delicate skin of his rim, and a small squeak escapes him. Dean pulls off long enough to say sshhh then delves back in, slurping away at Sam’s pulsing hole like it’s an ice cream cone.

Sam feels really wet there now, and kind of loose, like even if he tries to clench up, his ass still feels a bit open. It feels really weird, kind of like it wants something else in there, and Dean must be a mind reader, because next thing he know, there is one of Dean’s thick fingers pushing inside him easily, slippery with spit.  
“Fuck, Sam!” Dean whispers. “Your hole is practically sucking my finger in. So hungry for it.”  
He pumps his finger in and out slowly a few times before he puts his mouth to work again, forcing his tongue in alongside the digit and swirling it around the outside. Sam bears down, loving the stretch, the feeling of being filled with Dean’s tongue and finger. Dean starts to finger-fuck him faster and licks in big swipes from where his pointer is pistoning in and out, right up to Sam’s nuts which are drawn up tight and ready to empty themselves all over his stomach and chest.  
“Dean!” He pants. “Dean!”  
“Yeah?” Dean says quietly. “You gonna, Sammy?”  
“Yeah,” Sam moans. “I can’t…I’m gonna. Gonna come Dean.”  
Dean pulls his finger out, spreads Sam open with his thumbs and pushes his tongue inside as deep as it can go. His chin is pressed right up against Sam’s ass, stubble scratching along his crack as his jaw works, and Sam clenches down on the slick, undulating muscle and shoots off so hard, some of it lands on his damn face.  
Dean’s pokes his head up between Sam’s thighs, a wicked grin lighting his features.  
“Holy shit, Sammy! You went off like a rocket.”  
Sam lifts his head and Dean’s expression changes when he sees the streaks of come on his neck and cheeks.  
“Jesus Christ,” Dean says, and Sam feels him reach down to adjust himself before he brings a finger up to scoop the jizz of Sam’s face and into his open mouth.  
“Suck it,” Dean commands, and Sam does, hoping it’s not the same finger which was just buried to the hilt in his own ass.  
Dean’s eyes flutter shut and Sam swirls his tongue around his brother’s finger until Dean pulls out and sets to licking his hole again.  
“Dean?” Sam yanks at his brother’s head. “What’re you doing? It’s your turn.”  
Sam knows where this is headed. He’s lax and pliant now, licked open and loose-limbed from his orgasm. He’s only ever had a couple of fingers (and now Dean’s tongue) up there, but he’s pretty sure he’s ready to take a cock now.  
“I told you,” Dean says in a hushed voice. “Gonna eat you ‘til you’re hard again.”  
Sam’s head thunks back onto the pillow. Dean’s trying to kill him. He feels so messy and like he wants to push Dean’s tongue out and pull it further in all at once. Dean works him gently, pinching at his nipples, nuzzling at his softened cock and balls, nipping at the sensitive skin of his inner thigh and tonguing his still-spasming hole for long minutes until, finally, Sam feels blood surging south again, and his dick starts to fatten. The drying come makes the skin feel too tight as he fills out again, and Dean makes pleased noises and kitten-licks the soft, sticky head.  
“Dean?” Sam whispers. “You gonna fuck me?”  
Dean blinks up at Sam and gets to his knees.  
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, Sammy. We’re gonna fuck.”  
Sam nods and spreads his legs, feeling his eyebrows knit in confusion when Dean gets off the bed and disappears into the bathroom. He comes back a few moments later carrying what looks like a tube of toothpaste.  
“What’re you doing?”  
“It’s lube, kiddo. Makes things a hell of a lot easier. ‘Specially when you’re packing serious heat, know what I mean?”  
Dean winks again and Sam huffs a laugh.  
“You’re not that big, man. Don’t flatter yourself.”  
Dean has squeezed some of the glistening gel onto his fingers and is reaching behind himself, face screwed up in concentration.  
“Wasn’t talking about me, sport.”  
Dean gestures down to Sam’s dick with a bob of his head. Sam looks down at his hard-on, throbbing minutely with his heartbeat. He gasps when Dean grabs it and smears cold lubricant down the length.  
“What’re you -”  
Sam’s question dies on his lips as his brother straddles his narrow hips and positions Sam’s dick between his buttocks.  
“Dean?”  
Dean sinks down with a long moan, biting his lip and all Sam can feel is tight, tight heat sliding down his pole. His eyes rolls back in his head and he jams a knuckle between his teeth to stop from crying out.  
“Fuck,” he chokes out, feeling winded.  
“Yeah,” Dean says. “Yeah, Sammy. So fucking big. Oh God, your cock is so big. Feels like a baseball bat up there. Shit.”  
Dean’s got his weight settled in his lap now, and he’s breathing hard, obviously in pain. His hard-on has wilted slightly and Sam wraps his long fingers around it and starts to pump his fist up and down.  
“Dean? You OK? Am I hurting you?”  
Dean looks up and grins but it’s not as cocky this time.  
“I’m good, Sam. I’ve had bigger.”  
Sam’s stomach does a weird little flip at that and he grabs Dean’s chin between his thumb and forefinger.  
“Have you?”  
Dean’s smile falters.  
“Have you done this before?”  
“No, kiddo. Haven’t done this. Never this.”  
Lust spikes through Sam like pain. Dean is squeezing and rippling around him, and he feels like he could lose it any second even though he just came like twenty minutes ago.  
Dean turns his head and bites at Sam’s finger before sucking it into his mouth. He hollows his cheeks and slides his lips up and down, and Sam feels an echo of it on his dick.  
“Your mouth. Your fucking mouth,” he whispers.  
Dean carries on sucking as he lifts his hips a little and sinks back down with a wet sound. He does it again, and Sam realises his brother’s not only fully hard again, but leaking copious dribbles of fluid down his hot, tacky shaft.  
Dean draws his knees in tighter against the outside of Sam’s thighs and raises himself higher this time before slamming back down, groaning around Sam’s finger.  
“How’s it feel, Dean?”  
Dean pulls off his finger.  
“So good, Sam. God, I’ve been dreaming about getting your monster cock up inside me for months now. Since the very first time you pulled it out and jerked it for me.”  
“Yeah?”  
Dean’s picking up a rhythm, rocking his hips back and forth slightly as he raises and lowers himself on Sam’s dick. Sam knows it’s the booze talking. Come the morning, Dean will brazen it out. Smirk at Sam across the breakfast table while their dad reads through a stack of local papers for a potential hunt. But they won’t talk about this. Not until the next time Dean is drunk and horny enough to speak the truth. So he pushes for more, wanting to hear as much as he can, while he can.  
“Yeah, Dean? Is it how you imagined?”  
“Fuck yeah!” Dean hisses. “Better than. Been shoving my own fingers up there in the shower, pretending it’s you, but could never get deep enough.”  
“God, Dean. How many? How many fingers?”  
“Three,” Dean pants. “But it wasn’t enough. Jesus, you’re big. Filling me up so good. It hurts, but I like it. I want it to hurt. Wanna be sore for days. Wanna feel it in the car when Dad’s driving, when I’m riding shotgun. Gonna feel this ache deep inside. I’ll feel every tiny bump in the road. I’ll look in the rear view and see you and you’ll know I’m remembering this. Remembering how I rode you so hard and fast. Your huge cock pounding my virgin hole open.”  
Sam snarls his fingers in the bed sheets, curls his toes in on themselves, quaking with the effort of not coming. Dean is bouncing up and down, crushing Sam’s balls a little, giving his pleasure a razor-edge of pain.  
“Fuck me, Sammy. Fuck me.”  
Dean’s head is thrown back, throat exposed, a sheen of sweat on his chest despite the cold night.  
“I think you can make me nut just like this. Think I can come just from having your massive dick inside me. I’m so close, Sammy. Are you close? Gonna come inside me? Dump a huge load in my ass?”  
Dean is getting louder, lost to the sensations, the booze dulling his better judgement.  
“Ssshhhh!” Sam puts a finger to his lips. “Dean – quiet! You’ll wake Dad!”  
“Fuck Sam. Imagine if he came in now. Imagine if he saw his little Sammy balls deep in his big brother.”  
Shame licks up Sam’s spine, but it gets twisted up with the feeling of Dean’s ass convulsing around his aching cock and gives his pleasure a warped little extra something.  
“Quiet, Dean! You need to be quiet.”  
“Put your fingers in my mouth.”  
“What?”  
Sam is sweating now, bangs plastered to his forehead, and there’s a tingling, tugging feeling in the base of his spine and his asshole and he knows he’s about to lose it.  
“Gag me. I need something in my mouth.”  
Sam hooks a couple of sticky fingers in Dean’s mouth and feels his brother moan around them. His tongue is hot and slick as it works around the pads of his fingertips. The bed has started to knock into the wall and Sam is sure their father is going to burst in any second and probably end them both with his shotgun.  
“Gonna come, Sam!” Dean says around the fingers in his mouth. “You’re gonna make me come!”  
And with that, Sam watches in awe as a steady stream of milky fluid erupts from his brother’s slit, running down to pool in the wiry hair at the base, dripping down onto Sam’s thighs. It seems to last forever, not coming in pulses and spurting like normal, but flowing out of him. Dean is biting him now, drool seeping down to the webbing between Sam’s fingers. He’s almost sobbing. He’s a hot mess and Sam has never seen anything more perfect in his life. He throws his head back and bucks his hips up to shoot long and hard deep inside his brother, Dean whimpering and his fingernails scrabbling weakly at Sam’s chest before slumping forward.

 

 

“Well,” John says, looking over the top of his paper at his two sons sitting side by side in the booth. “You both look like Hell.”  
Sam thinks his father has looked better too, but he doesn’t say anything.  
“I want you both to get an early night tonight.”  
“Yessir,” they say in unison.  
John takes a slurp of his coffee.  
“Still, it’s no wonder, I suppose,” he says. “Found it pretty difficult to sleep myself with that racket going on.”  
Sam feels the blood drain from his face. He swallows dryly.  
“Racket, sir?”  
Dean is doing a good job of sounding nonchalant but Sam’s amazed their dad can’t hear his heart thudding from there.  
John peers over the newspaper again and smiles lop-sidedly. That’s where Dean gets it from, Sam thinks and a sick sort of thrill skitters over his scalp.  
“Don’t play innocent with me, boy!”  
Sam thinks he might faint.  
“You must’ve heard it. Must’ve been next door to you. Bed springs. Banging. Someone had a really good night.”  
He winks and Dean laughs. Sam feels his brother’s hand sneak over to squeeze his knee.  
“Well, Dad, I was out pretty late. Must’ve missed the action. Sammy here though…it probably kept him awake. Bet it was hard to get off with that happening so close by. To sleep, I mean. Huh, Sammy?”  
Sam’s face is aflame and John swats Dean with his paper.  
“Dean Winchester. Stop tormenting your brother. You were sixteen yourself not so long ago.”  
Dean laughs and Sam concentrates on trying to eat his pancakes without puking.  
It’s a full five minutes before his heart rate returns to anything like normal.

 

 

 


End file.
